Valley of Shadows
by CoolBreeze1
Summary: Episode tag to "38 Minutes." I know, I know - I'm like five years late on this...


_A/N: I was working on another (related) story, but the way that one is set up, I'm locked into a certain POV. This little tag emerged in part out of a need to break out of that POV and look at this event through fresh eyes (before I can finish the other story), and in part from watching the episode 38 Minutes about 38 times in the last week (for research purposes only of course... :D ) Hope you enjoy it!_

**Valley of Shadows**

Carson Beckett had no idea what to expect inside the jumper. He watched the craft settle on the floor, the rear hatch still open, and he ran forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The people inside had spent the last 37 minutes and 53 seconds in a coffin, doing everything they could to fight the inevitable, but he knew there was always that niggling doubt in the back of the mind that what you were doing wasn't going to be enough, and that the shadow of death would win this round.

He'd experienced it enough as a doctor. Carson Beckett was nice and friendly and warm—a good doctor who was accused of sometimes caring too much about his patients—but he was experienced. He'd seen more horrors in emergency rooms and trauma bays and hospitals the world over than a lot of the young soldiers now roaming the halls of Atlantis. He knew firsthand the battle for life—knew how tenacious it could hold on and how unexpectedly death could arrive.

The jumper finally dropped the rest of the way to the ground and Carson ran in, shedding the hood of his hazmat suit. The creature had been blown into space when Lieutenant Ford had opened the rear hatch, so there was no more need for the protective gear. The first thing he saw was Ford lying on the floor, clutching his chest and gasping for air.

"Get him on oxygen," Carson yelled to one of the emergency techs running into the jumper behind him. He didn't stop, though. He kept moving forward, palming the door to the front of the jumper.

The door slid open to reveal Teyla and Rodney both struggling with Major Sheppard's body. The front compartment was crowded, but the open door gave them the room they needed to ease Sheppard to the floor. Carson stepped in and grabbed the major's head, setting it gently on the floor before any new injuries happened.

Sheppard looked dead. Technically, he was dead, but Carson had believed that the condition was only temporary, that he would be able to pull the man back from the edge. Looking at his motionless body now, he felt that familiar niggling of doubt and the shadow of death pressing in around them.

John Sheppard's heart had stopped more than nine minutes ago, but over seven of those minutes had been spent de-molecularized in the wormhole. Did that count? He still had no idea what kind of effect that might have on the human body. Sheppard's skin was pale, almost a grayish color, and his jaw slack—the kind of relaxed that only happened in death. One of the other techs rushed in, and Carson glanced up to see Rodney helping Ford onto a gurney. At least one of them was going to be okay.

He pushed Sheppard's shirt and vest to the side while the tech kneeled down next to the man's head and prepped the equipment. Sheppard's chest was utterly still, his arms limp at his sides. Carson grabbed one of his wrists and bit his lip at how cold the skin felt.

Ten minutes. John Sheppard had been dead for almost ten minutes—not a single heartbeat or breath. Was that too long? Were they about to lose someone else? The tech connected the heart monitor then handed him the defibrillator paddles, and he saw Teyla grab Sheppard's dog tags and move the chain to the side. The steady drone of the flat-line echoed in the jumper, filling up every corner of the small space.

When he was young, Carson's family had gone north into the highlands for the summer, spending a month in a summer cottage. The house itself had been set in a steep valley, green as anything he'd seen before or since. He'd spent days running through the wilds with his brothers and his dog. The valley walls were bare and green, covered in scattered rocks and boulders, and it would take him almost half the day to climb to the top of the valley wall, and almost that much time to get back again.

He'd loved every minute of his time at the summer cottage, except for those few moments right before supper. He remembered standing on the back porch, day after day, watching the sun set and the shadows grow, and as it grew dark, the shapes of the boulders would twist and morph like something alive. Carson knew the rocks weren't actually changing, that it was only the shadows that made them look like they were moving and reaching long black fingers toward him, but it had terrified him every single time.

It took five hits with the defibrillator before Major Sheppard's heart finally started pumping again. Five times of sending a current of electricity racing through the man's body, shocking the fist-sized organ. Five times of seeing his body arch and convulse against the paddles. The emergency tech covered Sheppard's face with a mask, forcing air into motionless lungs. Carson was peripherally aware of people moving around behind him, of Teyla and the two pilots staring down in shock at the lifeless body of their teammate and CO.

But Carson won this battle, and he sighed in relief at the steady, rhythmic pattern of Sheppard's heartbeat.

"He's going to be fine," he announced, and he heard everyone deflate in relief around him. He wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead with his arm, taking a moment to acknowledge how close a call Sheppard's battle with death had been, then chased everyone but the tech out of the jumper.

Major Sheppard came to in the infirmary, halfway through the nurse's attempt to stitch up the wound in his neck. He was groggy and confused, and Beckett grabbed his hand, murmuring quiet words of encouragement. Sheppard moaned in response, one hand flopping weakly at his chest.

"I know you're hurting, lad," Beckett said, maintaining his low, even tone. "Just relax—we've got you. You're going to be fine. The insect is gone."

Sheppard's eyes slid closed a few minutes later, and the nurse finished up the last of her stitches. There were people clamoring to come in and see that Major Sheppard was indeed alive and recovering, so Carson patted his newest patient on the shoulder then headed toward the waiting area.

A half an hour later, the major had been cleaned up and changed into scrubs. Carson watched him smile up at the nurse as she attached a fresh, clean bandage to his neck. John Sheppard was grinning, wide awake and no doubt feeling a little high from the realization that he had survived his ordeal. He followed the nurse's every move with his eyes and tried to look calm and relaxed. Carson didn't know the man that well—they'd only been on Atlantis a few weeks—but he could see that the smile and the laid-back attitude was all a cover.

Major Sheppard was pale with dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted. He was sore too, although he wouldn't admit to it, but the winces every time he shifted in the bed were a dead giveaway to Carson's trained eye. When his team walked in, led by Elizabeth, Sheppard's attention shifted to them.

The nurse smiled one final time before finishing up and moving away from the bed. She caught Carson's eye as she passed and gave him a pointed look—she hadn't been fooled by Major Sheppard's attempt at a relaxed demeanor either. Carson nodded, jotting down the last of his notes in Sheppard's chart. They still had no idea what exactly that Iratus bug had done to him. The fact that he'd felt intense pain followed by slow-onset paralysis indicated he'd been injected with some kind of toxin, maybe even more than one. He still wanted to draw more blood, but the initial blood tests should just about be done, letting him know whether their painkillers would react badly with the insect's toxin.

He could hear Sheppard talking with his team and Elizabeth, who'd been crawling the walls while the medical team had gotten the major settled in the infirmary. None of them had seemed to believe he was going to be okay until they had actually seen him with their own eyes, but Carson could understand that.

He heard the easy banter between the team and smiled, the adrenaline of the moment finally loosening its hold. Ford was laughing at something, and Carson was happy to see the young man up and moving around so quickly after being exposed to hard vacuum. It had been a hell of day, and they were all tired. Carson was about to shoo them all out when he heard them leave of their own accord.

The nurse returned with the necessary test tubes and needles to gather the blood samples a few minutes later and Sheppard's initial lab results. Carson read over the results with relief. He glanced at his patient and saw that the major was alone, his head leaning back against the pillow and his eyes closed. Was he actually asleep? Carson doubted it, but just in case…

"I'll take care of that," he said quietly to the nurse. She handed him the materials he needed then retreated to collect the pain reliever Carson knew the major needed.

Carson approached the bed slowly, acutely aware of the ordeal the man had just undergone and not wanting to spook him. He set the blood collection tubes on the small nightstand and pulled a stool to the bedside. The monitors continued to beat a steady rhythm, the numbers all within normal range.

Sheppard sucked in a breath but his eyes remained closed, and Carson watched the muscles on his face twitch. He was dozing, and obviously beginning to dream. The fingers in his lap jerked, and he rolled his head first to one side, then the other.

_Better stop this before it progresses too far,_ Carson thought. He reached over and grabbed the man's arm.

"Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard's breathing increased and his face twisted again.

"Major, wake up," Carson said, a little more forcefully. He shook his arm just as the heart monitor began to beep faster. "Major!"

"Wha…" Sheppard jerked awake, staring up at the ceiling in confusion. He started to turn his head toward Carson but stopped right away with a groan. He swallowed a few times, licking dry lips.

"Major?"

Sheppard let out a low moan, and Carson squeezed his arm again.

"Doc?"

"Right here, Major."

"…hmmm…"

"Sorry to wake you, son. How are you feeling?"

Sheppard turned his head carefully he was looking at the doctor. Carson could see the man's face was drawn and exhausted, and he looked even paler than he had before. The muscles in his face tensed as he clenched his jaw.

"Hurts," he admitted, his voice a little hoarse. "Chest, neck."

"Aye, I know. I just need to draw some more blood, Major, then I can give you something to take the edge off." He grabbed the rubber strip on the table and tied it around Sheppard's arm.

"John."

Carson reached over for the needle and tube, then tapped the vein in the crook of his patient's arm. "Sorry?"

"You always call me Major or Major Sheppard. Call me John."

"In that case, John, you should just feel a pinch."

"Small beans, doc, small beans."

Carson filled four tubes of blood, then set them off to the side. Sheppard, in the meantime, sagged back into bed, letting his eyes drift closed.

"All done with the blood draw, Major…er…John. Just a few more tests then I'll let you get some rest."

"Hmm…'kay," John answered, dragging open heavy eyelids.

Carson lifted one of John's hands, letting John's fingers curl around two of his fingers. "Can you squeeze my fingers?"

John raised his eyebrow but obliged the request, curling his fingers into a weak fist. Carson repeated the test with the other hand, nodding at the results. John's arms trembled at the effort, but the results were equal with both hands. He stood up and walked to the foot of the bed, lifting the sheet. John watched him tiredly.

"Can you move your feet for me?" he stared at the feet in question for a moment, glancing up when the toe on the left foot twitched then went still.

John let out a ragged breath, sitting up a little. The steady beeping on the heart monitor suddenly increased.

"Easy, lad," Carson soothed. "Can you feel this at all?" He pressed against the bottom of his foot, testing the reflexes, and nodded when the toes curled slightly.

"No," John responded, breathless. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Carson re-tucked the blankets in around John's legs, then sat back down on the stool. "The Iratus bug flooded your system with some type of paralytic agent," he explained, handing the test tubes of blood to the nurse who had just stepped into the room. In return, she handed him a syringe. "I imagine it will take a little bit of time for your body to metabolize the toxin, but you should recover completely."

Carson reached for the IV in John's arm, inserting the syringe and dumping the contents. "That should help with the pain."

John relaxed almost immediately, but he blinked drowsy eyes and turned to look at Carson. "Why is my chest so sore?"

Carson sighed. "We had a little trouble getting your heart started after we pulled the creature off. You'll probably feel achy for a few days, but you're going to be fine, John. Now get some rest."

John needed no more encouragement and his eyes slid shut. Carson had given him a pretty strong dose, knowing the amount of pain he was probably in, and he was glad to see the tension ease out of the man's body. John's heart relaxed into a steady rhythm and he settled into a deep sleep.

It wasn't late, but it was well past visiting hours in the infirmary. He grabbed the controls of the bed and moved the bed back until John was laying flat, then he flipped the lights off in the room. He was about to leave when he paused a moment, tilting his head at the thought that crossed his mind. A few seconds later, he returned to John's bedside and flipped on a small lamp, chasing the dark shadows of the infirmary back to their corners.

_The drugs should keep the nightmares away, at least for tonight,_ Carson thought. _But, a little light never hurt._

END


End file.
